


Candle in the Wind

by dendrobeites



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 13:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3693428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dendrobeites/pseuds/dendrobeites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>April laments over her marriage, and claims that she can save it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candle in the Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Highly indulgent fic inspired by another dark fic I just finished reading (for another fandom). My friend convinced me to try and write a dark Parks and Rec fic, and well, it's 4am, and here I am.
> 
> Quite OOC because it's near unfathomable how Parks and Rec could be dark. What even am I writing.

It had all started with an idea that screamed 'April Ludgate'.

 

"We're losing it. We're becoming an old, boring couple!" His wife had started to say as he mentally made a list of the things they would need to buy for the night. Milk, eggs, carrots, meat. Mundane things and an ordinary task for anybody else - but they were never like 'anybody else'.

"Andy!"

"What? Oh, sorry."

"God, this is exactly what I mean. Look at you! Look at us. When did we stop being spontaneous?"

Andy reminisced. His first meeting with April, the way she seemed so headstrong, a boulder that wouldn't budge without its permission to move, to be moved. The childish acting and roundabout way they had fallen in love, the late night escapades into god-knows-what territories, the confidence spilling off of his girlfriend diffusing into his own psyche, moulding him into a force able to face whatever harm the world could do to him.

"Babe, don't be ridiculous. Spontaneous? We're still spontaneous." He soothed. As if to reinforce the point, he pressed the pad of his index finger against his temple, and swirled. "Boop. See? Mental grocery shopping list, gone. We can buy whatever we want now! It'll be just like that time in Bed, Bath and Beyond, remember?"

April rolled her eyes at the gesture. "We still stuck to what Ben told us to get, you loser. And why was there even a mental checklist?! God, Andy, don't you see? This is exactly what I've been saying. We're going to be boring and do boring things and die a boring death."

Her husband reached over and gently wrapped his arms around her. "Hey, we're not dying, okay? Awesome people don't die. And we're awesome." He grinned.

At this, she seemed to relax a little in his arms, mouth upturned into a small smile. "You're such a massive dork."

"But you don't hate me." He stated, content.

She snorted. "Those were literally my wedding vows."

"...Did you just say 'literally'? Oh my god, you're turning into Chris!" He gaped, beside himself with shock and amusement.

"GROSS!" She squirmed and pushed him back in mock disgust, hiding the still-present smile behind locks of loose hair.

Andy thought he had calmed the frustration within his wife's mind with words of endearment and assurance, like he always had. Yet, something inside of him stirred, a blip of uneasiness telling him he had weathered the storm but that it would continue to rain.

 

* * *

 

In the next few weeks, the blip he had felt seemed like it had been a false warning. He managed to surprise his wife with a few adventures, from a trip back down to the Grand Canyon they had visited on their bucket-list drive, to doing shots during one of Tom's business presentations, much to the latter's dismay. He had, however, disappointed her when he had insisted on taking Xantax before accepting the dare the other had proposed of eating an entire jar of olives. She had nodded in agreement but immediately fell exasperated, exclaiming an "Oh my GOD, I hate us!" before stomping off to regroup with the others at the Gala, emotions aligning perfectly with the beautiful red number she had chosen to wear that night.

_All in all, nothing to worry about,_ he had thought.

But when April had suggested they go and view an old, abandoned house at the corner of the warehouse district, the blip had resurfaced.

"Come on, Andy. You know I love things like this. This is perfect for us, you'll see."

"I don't know, babe. The rent for our apartment's pretty cheap, and it's close to work, food, that rickety old fence I wish they'd fix..." He joked.

She groaned. "We'll rot there. We already have! We can have our own place, with bigger rooms, and Champion'll have a yard instead of a patch of grass to pee on."

Andy sighed. He knew that the things April had listed were true, but he had never surmised that his first living quarters under a stable income would be a decaying and quite possibly haunted building in the worst neighbourhood in Pawnee, Indiana. If it'd make his wife happy though, he'd welcome it. "Let's go see it then."

His stomach churned, and just like the past few weeks, it hadn’t been due to hunger.

 

* * *

 

Moving in and settling into a dilapidated structure was easier than Andy had originally thought. They didn’t have much to move between the two spaces, most of the furniture and home décor souvenirs from their first achievement as adults (under Ben’s supervision, of course). The former asylum did have some charm of its own, with spacious rooms and natural lighting coating its worn-out walls and drowning out potential ghosts. He heaved and released a breath of air as he plopped the boxes down onto the creaky floors. ‘Stuff’ was the universal label given to all the brown packages, making it impossible to decipher where everything had been placed. Still, he couldn’t help but smile as he thought that _this was so like them._ The familiarity and warmth of their relationship made the readjusting eons quicker. Change had always been something he struggled with, as much as he tried to deny it. Letting go of Ann had been difficult, and allowing himself to pursue other passions after having failed his police exam had been equal parts exhilarating and agony.

“Babe!” April’s voice rang from across the room, echoing off the antique walls, exploding dust in his vision.

“Coming!” He answered, and quickly made his way into the bedroom.

He stopped short and inhaled sharply at the sight before him. There his wife stood, without a strip of fabric to conceal her soft skin. Under any other circumstance, he would’ve worshipped the marvel in front of him, kiss in adoration his goddess and bestow upon her all the love he had to offer to make up for the qualities he lacked. In any other time, Andy Dwyer would’ve held onto his April Ludgate and whisper, stumbling over his words, all the sweet nothings he knew in the form of a lyric, his most prized song.

He didn’t though, as he hastily scanned the room for anything – any article of clothing, drapery, _concealment_ from the outside world as he anxiously threw glances at the open window, sun pooling to present his goddess to wandering, unworthy eyes.

“April! Wh-what are you doing?” He spluttered, opting to block her from the window instead, his body eclipsing her own.

She smiled, mischief mixed with something darker as she looked up with confident eyes (the ones he had learned to find strength in but were now teaching him something completely different). “What do you think?” She spoke, a heavy accent punctuating each word, often as she did when she took the role of another persona. But this was not a role Andy had seen her play, amongst all their pretend games of cat and mouse. This time, she was the predator, a tiger prowling for bigger prey, mice unsatisfactory.

“April, stop.”

She frowned. “What do you mean, ‘stop’? We haven’t even done anything yet.”

“I know. And we’re not going to. Okay?” He softened his tone at the end of his phrase turned plead.

The mischief and darkness dissipated at once, leaving her eyes awash with disappointment. Relief flooded through Andy, until her next words. “We never do anything anymore.” She whispered, turning around. “We’re turning into strangers, Andy. Who are you? Who am I? Who are we?!”

It was Andy’s turn to frown. “April…just because we’re not…” he tried, struggling to find the right words, “…as exciting or weird or wild as we were before, doesn’t mean we’re becoming strangers.” He ruffled his own hair, irritation now lapping at the relief coursing through his veins just moments ago. “I love you, and you love me. Isn’t that enough? Isn’t that why we got married? Not because we wanted excitement, though we always had-have that.” He corrected.

“I love April Ludgate. Doesn’t April Ludgate love Andy Dwyer? Or not hate him?” He half-heartedly prompted, hoping the trigger would once again elicit a smile.

She was silent for a moment, brunette hair catching the light through the crevices exposed by his body. “Yeah,” she began, “of course she does.”

Andy opened his mouth to respond, but she had already disappeared into the hallway. He sank into a crouch, and drew his arms in. _What is happening?_ He thought. Although he admittedly was not the brightest candle in the wind, surely his wife was behaving strangely, even by their standards. Like everything they had built was suddenly not enough. She wanted more, craved more. _Craved what though?_ He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer. Greed, lust – it felt like none of those things, felt like something much more sinister.

His stomach hurt. The gut feeling grew more pronounced, festering like the inflammation of a wound that had been left untamed by the balm he had applied. Raw and bitter, like somebody had tried to claw their way in, like a parasite digging into whatever flesh it could find just to stay alive. Like desperation trying to unearth what was once, now no more.

 

* * *

 

The following morning was, unsurprisingly, a little awkward. April seemed to be happier, humming to herself as she popped bread into the toaster and poured for them two glasses of milk. She would look up, ask Andy questions about what he had planned for the day, then continue with the breakfast preparation. Somehow, the trivial, methodological task she had warped herself into made him restless at her unsettling behaviour, and he found himself asking, “Babe, are you alright?”

She looked up again. “What do you mean?” She asked, as if he were the one being ridiculous.

“Just…you don’t seem like yourself.”

“Andy, I’m making breakfast for us. How am I “not like myself”? You don’t want your bacon?” She stared him down, sardonically.

Her sarcastic tone quelled the nerves firing in his body, and he relaxed a little, smiling. “I do.” He replied. “Will you serve it in a Frisbee for me?”

Without missing a beat, she responded. “Only if it’s served with chili.”

 

* * *

 

Andy returned home in high spirits. He loved his job as Johnny Karate and the joy he brought to the kids on his show, and to the viewers at home. The bubbling giggles and laughter that erupted around him as he brought out his so-called ninjas, or when he managed to pull a fast one over Mailman Barry (which wasn’t all that difficult, and quite often) were contagious, quiet happiness subverting his thoughts, the anxiety and restlessness from earlier forgotten. He fished the house keys out of his pocket, newly copied and carved, and entered the house. “Babe? I’m back!”

Silence. The happiness faltered a bit.

“Babe?” He tried again. “April?”

The drone of the heater could be heard, but nothing that would indicate the presence of his wife.

The happiness withered.

“April?” He continued to call, desperation etched into the sound of his voice as he made his way through room upon room, common courtesy thrown aside as he threw open every last door in the house.

He crashed into the bedroom with a large _bang!,_ shoes still on and clothes dishevelled, breathing harshly. Inside, he found his wife with eyes affixed to the television screen, unflinching.

“April, I called you five time-“

“Shhh! Look, there!” She pointed at the screen with unrelenting force. “Look!”

_“Are you craz-“_ He was about to reply, anger and worry mixing, the latter overpowering his thoughts as he shook. He stopped, interrupted by the program playing, numbers on the screen indicating that April had increased the volume.

“-we bring you breaking news into the report of an incident that has just taken place near local restaurant, JJ’s Diner. A clothing store has just been robbed at 3:52PM this afternoon. Police and witnesses say that the suspect had their face covered and was working alone when they entered the store, threatening the cashier to open the cash register. The suspect escaped with $500 in cash shortly after, and set a small fire to the property. No one was harmed during the incident, and police are urging anyone with any information to contact them immediately. Th-“

Andy slammed his fist onto the power button, rattling the screen and wall supporting it. His arms shook like the aftershock of his action, and he looked down. _No, there’s no way, there’s no way it could’ve be-_ He tried to think, already doubting himself as he cursed the answer he already knew.

“Look, Andy! Look. Look!”

He tried desperately to block out the word she was repeating over and over like a prayer, a mantra, a spell that couldn’t be undone in the presence of its master.

“Andy!”

He roared then, hands shaking as they gripped her shoulders (so small – how did she manage to…?) and looked into her face for any explanation she might have to offer. He searched her soft features and bright eyes, but found marble and dusk in their place.

She laughed, uncharacteristically, and he found disgust pooling in the pit of his stomach against his will at what she had become. Slick hands found their way into his hair, burn marks resting where his lips had once caressed and promised protection, and he steeled himself from the feeling of wanting to run away. From his beloved wife. No.

This was a foreigner.

“You were right.” She said, slowly, thoughtfully, a philosopher at her trade. “We’re not going to become boring. We’re not going to die boring deaths.”

Andy could only shake his head at each syllable. He couldn’t speak.

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Andy choked back a sob. The expression he had loved most, the one that could warm his heart for days on end, that carried him through his indecisiveness and insecurity as an adult, a partner, a friend – that promised that he was enough, all of him, had become so malicious and cruel. It said that he wasn’t enough, not for her. Not for them.

She embraced him, nuzzling into the groove of his chest.

“It’s okay, babe. I’ve got this. I’ve got us.” She looked up. Another smile, slow and torturous. She drew his gaze towards the side of their bed, once empty but now stacked with unknown parcels, their ‘Stuff’ overwritten by threats of ‘Danger’ and ‘Caution’, already manifesting in more than their labels, overstepping boundaries.

Words still failed him. She didn’t seem to mind though, as she supplied her own, but none of them were explanation enough. None of them sounded like real words to him, not even the sound of his own name, used to punctuate her sentences like a decoration slapped on last minute.

What had happened? What in the world was this? His question fell upon deaf ears.

This was Janet Snakehole's desperate escape from the confines of prison, no Burt Macklin to promise a secret affair to save her from law and loneliness. This was bitter betrayal, akin to the fury Leslie Knope had felt on Morning Star, without the mock resentment nor attachment, no overnight fix with words and understanding. This was a bankruptcy of remaining values; a criminal devoid of Pikitis innocence. This was a descent into a stranger's heart, left barren from greed and resistance to a normal love, twisted remainders like scraps to feed incoming vultures. Andy could only watch in stasis, body like the time - so long ago - it had fallen into the Pit, a witness to the birth of his true love, and now the death of it. _Who are you? Who am I?_ The question she had asked what seemed a millennium ago came to mind. And for the first time in a long while, perhaps since he had left his shoe-shining days and fumbling over office papers, he did not know what to do.

 

For this was no longer April Ludgate.


End file.
